


Companion Pieces to the Devil's Playground (by Heeley)

by CatherineMorgenstern



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Fairy Tales, F/M, collection of one-shots for The Devil's Playground
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineMorgenstern/pseuds/CatherineMorgenstern
Summary: Get a more in-depth look at the Cursed and their stories from the fabulous world ofHeeley's"The Devil's Playground".





	1. Hermione's Predecessor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader, this is my very first, very own one-shot. I hope you enjoy it and leave me a comment.  
> (As I’m reposting this now on AO3 - almost ten months after I wrote this first chapter - I’m amazed at how much I’ve improved and changed my writing style. Please don’t judge this too harshly for that very reason.)
> 
> A huge thank you to [Heeley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeley/pseuds/Heeley), who's been nothing but kind and supportive to me and has acted as my beta. She is all around fabulous! I love you!

**"Come, if you’re curious to see"**

"Is it possible to absorb the curse's immortality?" Tom Marvolo Riddle asked, not showing an ounce of emotion.

"Yes," Percy Weasley answered, wondering why Tom seemed to have taken such an interest in this topic.

"Does the curse need to be broken in order to do that?"

"Yes."

"Can the curse be broken?" Tom inquired.

"Yes." Percy was forced to answer.

"Can I break the curse?"

"No."

"Can anyone currently living here break the curse?"

"No."

"Have I met the person who can break the curse, yet? "

"No."

"Have any of the Cursed met that person, yet?"

"No."

He seemed lost in thought for a moment before a calculating gleam entered his eyes. Percy thought he saw them flash red for the briefest of seconds, but it happened so quickly that it might as well have been a trick of the light.

"Will I gain what I desire?

Percy opened his mouth, but there were no words waiting to crawl up his throat. He didn't know the answer. That had never happened before.

"I...I don't know," he answered, frowning.

Surprise darkened Tom's green eyes. "Interesting..."

Tom observed him intently, as though he was trying to peer into Percy's mind, pull out the truth and rummage through his thoughts to look for a lie that wasn't there. The curse wouldn't allow such a deception.

They'd been at it for an hour, sitting in Tom's dim office and inhaling the musty scent of innumerable leather-bound books and parchment that filled the room. His vast collection was stored on floor to ceiling shelves that covered the walls, some so old that the spines looked ready to drop off. The only source of light came from a single lightbulb that hung from the black ceiling and cast everything in a sickly yellow tinge. Tom sat behind a large desk that was topped with dark green leather and had an ink stand and a quill set neatly in front of him. Several books were stacked along the edges in meticulous lines. The grandfather clock in the corner seemed to be ancient with its dark, intricately carved wood, its clockface of gilded roman numerals and its resonating chime that announced every hour. The hypnotic ticking seemed to soothe Percy's frayed nerves.

Tom had summoned him to his office and asked all sorts of questions regarding the nature of the curse, drawing ever closer to trying to figure out how to break it. It was understandable, of course, that Tom wanted to find a way to lift the curse. Everyone afflicted by this terrible nightmare wanted nothing more than to be free of its oppressive embrace. To be able to leave the Playground and live a normal life again. But Percy got the impression Tom wanted something else... Then again, no one could be sure about what went on in the twisted mind of Tom Riddle. He had always been unreadable, his facial expressions as inanimate as those of a mask. He'd mastered the art of keeping his face perfectly blank years ago, after all. Percy had never felt quite at ease with the custodian of the Devil's Playground, even though Tom had never done anything to make it seem as though he didn't like Percy in the past six months that he'd been living there.

Everyone living at the Playground regarded the owner with a mixture of gratitude, deference and a huge amount of fear. If Tom hadn't allowed them to live on the Playground's premises they would have been doomed to suffer slow, agonizing deaths. The curse in itself was linked to their bloodlines and seemed to latch on to specific character traits. Percy's curse consisted of knowing the answer to every question anyone asked him and only being able to respond with yes or no. Which is why Tom had summoned him to his office.

"You may leave now. I'll let you know if I have further questions," Tom said in his dark, rich voice with that glacial tone he always used as he leaned back with one leg crossed over the other in his black, leather chair, dismissing him absentmindedly. He seemed to be deep in thought. Pondering the possibilities and repercussions of what he'd discovered.

-OOOOOOOOO-

At the start of the year, on a particularly cold and snowy January night, Percy Weasley arrived at the gate to the Devil’s Playground. Severus Snape had escorted him there after that damned Curse had manifested itself in him for the first time. Now he’d be doomed to live out his days in this unwelcoming establishment. He’d known of the Playground before he’d gotten afflicted by the Curse, of course. It ran in his family, after all. But he’d still been dismayed that it had chosen him and not one of his six siblings. All those lofty aspirations he’d had for his professional career were inconsequential now. He was ashamed to admit how very frightened he was. He’d heard dark rumours about the Playground, its custodian in particular. They say he enjoys being able to decide whether or not the Cursed get to live. To most people it would be a question with an obvious answer: Do I allow someone to live on my premises if the alternative is them dying? Yes, of course!

But Tom Riddle had already let a number of people die by refusing to welcome them here. Percy was torn between feeling apprehensive and grateful that he didn’t belong to one of those unfortunate ones. 

After he met Tom he leant more towards being scared shitless. There was something off about the custodian. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d gotten the impression that he was almost clinically detached and felt no empathy at all towards his fellow Cursed. People without a moral guideline are dangerous and unpredictable. Percy had never liked unpredictability. He preferred things, and people, to be black and white. Good or evil. Tom Marvolo Riddle made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

The other Cursed liked to keep to themselves and only ever interacted with each other willingly on the occasional dinner they had to sit through on Tom’s behest. He didn’t particularly like any of them and preferred to hole himself up in the library or his bedroom. A few short months ago his twin brothers, Fred and George, had joined the Playground. Even though they were family he’d never quite gotten along with them. He noticed that they became crueler and crueler as the weeks passed by and wondered if the Playground was changing him, too.

And if so, in what way.

-OOOOOOOOO-

Percy felt himself growing weaker and weaker in the following 48 hours. He didn't know why. He had no clue as to what caused his sudden illness. It started with a headache and progressed further and further from there. He lost his appetite, experienced dizzy spells and suffered from nausea, even though he hadn't imbibed anything but peppermint tea. Soon he became too weak to leave his bed.

So he spent his time ensconced in his bedroom, alternating between wreaking his brain for a probable cause and falling into an exhausted sleep that left him weaker every time he woke.

He looked out at the menagerie through the leaded windows of his second-story bedroom. The windows took up most of the wall facing his bed. One of them was open and let in warm summer air, bringing with it the scent of hay, freshly mown grass and jasmine. The sound of birds and crickets chirping filled the air, disrupted from time to time by howls and screeches from the creatures in the menagerie.

He glanced around his bedroom, taking in the dark wood furnishings, heavy light-green damask curtains and matching carpet. His bedroom was flooded with light, but it still looked muted and dim. The Playground seemed to absorb any light.

Percy was waiting impatiently for his brothers to return. He'd enlisted their help to bring him any book that looked promising from the vast library. They'd only reluctantly agreed, because they didn't like browsing through all those tomes. Percy had played on the little pity they had left. The fact that he started looking pale and skeletal convinced them that it was of the utmost importance and not just Percy being insufferable.

He hadn't found anything about the nature of the curse, yet, or even its origins. Which shouldn't have been surprising. If the answers were so readily available then Tom Riddle would have never interrogated him. He'd surely done his research and come up empty before ever even thinking about approaching Percy.  
Whatever was happening to him seemed to be connected to the questions he'd answered yesterday. As though the curse didn't like him providing Tom with those answers. But that was insane, right? Surely the curse couldn't be sentient... He realised how absurd it was for him to debate the insanity of anything, considering he lived in a museum that housed people who'd been cursed.

Suddenly, excruciating pain flooded his body. He felt as though his heart was being crushed and fire seemed to flow through his veins. It felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have lasted longer than a few seconds. After that he could hardly move.

It became clearer and clearer to Percy what was happening. Whatever Tom was up to had caused the curse to react violently. He realised too late that it was draining his life force.

He wanted to alert his brothers to this new discovery, but before he could utter a single syllable, his heart stopped.

Percy Weasley was dead.

-OOOOOOOOO-

Miles away, in a rainy little town on the edge of a wood, Hermione Granger felt an instant of unimaginable pain and lost consciousness.


	2. A Jarring Disfigurement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next one-shot from me. Learn how Charlie got his scar! Enjoy, dear readers!
> 
> All my love to the fabulous Heeley, who edited for me! Once again you've inspired me and held my hand through this. I can't tell you how grateful I am and how much I adore you!
> 
> (Again, this was uploaded last year and was only the second piece I’d written at that point in time. These one-shots definitely show me experimenting with my writing style and trying to figure out how much information is needed to make for a compelling story. Please don’t judge my overly descriptive writing here too harshly.)

**“These chains of freedom are yours to keep“**

Molly Weasley was standing in her cozy kitchen, preparing lunch for her family. She was chopping vegetables for a stew when she saw a tall, dark man coming up the driveway through the window. The man was wearing a conservative black jacket and shirt that he'd buttoned all the way up, his trousers were neatly ironed and dark boots adorned his feet. There wasn't a speck of colour on him. Since the man was unknown to her, she called out for her husband.

"Arthur? Can you come down for a moment?"

She heard his footsteps coming down the stairs. "What is it, dear?"

"There's a man outside. Do you know him?"

Arthur came to stand beside Molly to look out at their driveway. "No, I don't recognise him."

He went to the front door, opened it and waited for the man to make his way over to him.

-OOOOOOOOO-

When the summons had reached Severus Snape he had already been in a foul mood. He‘d assumed it was to get directions to the home of the newest Cursed he'd have to escort to the Devil's Playground. When he'd arrived there and instead got sent on an errand by those insufferable Twins, his mood darkened even further. Did they take him for a post man? What did he care that one of the Cursed had died? But the custodian had backed the Twins' demand and so he had no choice.

Now, as he was walking down the driveway (if you could call it that) of the Weasleys, he couldn't help but sneer at the obvious poverty. Their house looked like a former pigpen with it's funny architecture and chickens running around the yard. Distasteful. When he saw the door open he made sure to wear his haughtiest expression. A man, who must be the patriarch, judging by the fiery hair, stood in the doorway, awaiting him. He was wearing saggy brown trousers, a dark blue shirt and scuffed leather shoes. Severus kept his measured pace on purpose, not willing to speed up.

"Mr Weasley, I presume?" inquired Severus.

"Call me Arthur. And who might you be?" answered Mr Weasley with a warm smile.

"Severus Snape. I'm here on an errand for The Devil's Playground. Your sons asked me to deliver a letter to you." He reached into his pocket to pull the Twins' letter out, wanting nothing more than to leave. But Arthur Weasley interrupted him by saying, " Please, come in! You've had a long journey. Can I get you anything? Tea? Water? My wife just finished making lunch."

Before Severus could decline, Arthur had already opened the door for him and disappeared inside. He let go of the letter with an irritated sigh. With no other option but to follow, he entered, coming to stand directly in the kitchen. The room was decorated in earthy tones and crowded with mismatched furniture. 

Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows. It looked very cluttered and cheap. But maybe it was precisely because of that that it seemed so welcoming; homey even. The room smelt of basil, lemon and something sweet that he couldn't put his finger on. Right in front of him stood a large wooden table surrounded by a multitude of different chairs that stood on a rainbow-coloured carpet. The sound of birdsong drifted through the open windows. Family pictures covered the kitchen's yellow walls. Apparently they had a total of seven children. Dear Lord. Directly to his left and at the far end of the room were doors that seemed to lead to the living room and the staircase, respectively. To his right was the stove with Mrs Weasley in front of it, clad in an unflattering beige skirt and a bulky red jumper that were covered by a multicoloured apron and worn-out boots, stirring what appeared to be a stew. She was smiling at him.

"Hello, I'm Molly. Arthur tells me you've brought news from the Playground? Sit down, I’ll get you some tea."

The woman had a mothering attitude about her that made Severus instantly uncomfortable, especially considering the kind of news he was about to bestow upon them.

"Thank you," he said stiffly, sitting down on a rickety chair that creaked ominously under his weight as Arthur brought him a cup of tea and took a seat next to him. "Yes, indeed. I'm Severus Snape. Your sons, Fred and George, asked me to bring you a letter. I'll be gone in a moment to let you read in peace."

"Nonsense. You’ll stay for lunch. I insist. You must've been travelling since the early hours of the morning!" She was busy ladling the stew into three different looking bowls. Did anything match in this household?

Wanting desperately to leave, but not wanting to be impolite, he thanked her for the stew before he once again fished the letter out of his pocket.

"I'm afraid the news I have for you isn't pleasant. But read for yourself."

-OOOOOOOOO-

Molly put the bowls on the table, sat down and accepted the letter. She opened the envelope and pulled the page out. There were only three written lines in the centre of it...

_Mum, Dad,_  
_Percy died last night. Unless you want his body to be burnt you should come get him._  
_Fred & George_

Molly went white as a sheet and gasped, instant tears springing to her eyes, her hands started shaking and her breaths came in pants. Arthur looked alarmed by his wife's reaction. He stood up to go over to her and said, "Molly, whatever is the matter? Let me see."

As if in trance Molly held the paper out to him, pushing her bowl from the table at the same time. It shattered into a thousand pieces and spilt stew all over the cheery rainbow carpet.

Arthur read the letter and went utterly still for a minute before crumpling to the floor in a sobbing heap.

Severus didn't know how to handle their reactions. He'd never been good at consoling people. So he got to his feet, straightened his jacket and said, "I'll leave you alone now. I know this must be incomprehensible for you. I'll be staying in a Bed & Breakfast at Ottery St. Catchpole. Let me know when you want to visit the Playground to...collect...your son's remains. I've been instructed to escort you."

He felt relieved to leave that kitchen. The visual of the Weasleys' grief would stay with him for a long time.

-OOOOOOOOO-

Charlie had been at work when his mother's message reached him. She'd told him to come home immediately. Even though his mum could be a bit dramatic and downright sneaky when she wanted to see her children, he somehow instinctively knew that this was serious. So he made his way to his parents' house as soon as possible.

When he entered the kitchen he saw that his baby sister, Ginevra, and his younger brother, Ronald, were already there. Three of his brothers lived at the Playground and he assumed Bill hadn't gotten the message yet, since he lived in Egypt. Usually the atmosphere would be light and cheerful whenever they came together. Now it was sombre. Charlie could see the grief and weariness embedded in his parents features; they seemed to have aged 10 years since he'd seen them last week. When he looked at his siblings for an explanation they seemed just as clueless as he was. He went to give everyone a hug. His mum clung to him when he did and he knew that whatever had happened was even more serious than he had anticipated. Since he was still wearing his work clothes, frayed light blue jeans and a white T-Shirt, he merely divested himself off his black leather jacket, hanging it over the back of one of the chairs.

"What's going on?" he asked.

His mother burst into tears at the question and his father put an arm around her, trying to console her, before he said, "Earlier today, we got a letter from Fred and George. They wrote to tell us that..." he swallowed hard before he continued, "...that Percy died a few days ago."

Shocked, Charlie just stared at his father for a second. He wanted to cry but when he looked at his wailing mother, his choked up father and the utter disbelief on his siblings' faces he knew he had to keep it together. He could break down later when he was alone.

"How?" he asked his father in a strangled voice.

"We don't know. They didn't say. Only that we have to travel to the Playground and get his...body...if we intend to bury him with the family. Otherwise they'll burn him."

Charlie took a deep breath as he watched his sister run from the kitchen in tears and his brother attempting to comfort his mother. He was suddenly blinded by a beam of sunlight that shone through the window - as though to mock his family's grief. It seemed cruel that they should stand in his mother's bright kitchen that held so many wonderful memories while talking about his dead brother.

"I'll go get him."

"No!" Molly said. The first words she had spoken to him since he arrived. "I'll bring him back. He is my son."

"I'll come with you," Arthur said.

"Mum, Dad - don't. You don't need to. I’ll go."

"No. I need to see it for myself and talk to this custodian. Percy wrote to me only last week! What could've changed so drastically and caused his death so quickly? And why weren't we informed if it was due to some illness? I need to do this, Charlie!" she insisted adamantly.

Charlie conceded reluctantly. "Fine. Then we'll go together. Dad, you should stay here and take care of Ginny." 'And Ron,' he added silently. "Someone should be here when Bill gets home, anyway, and we don't know how long it'll take to travel to the Playground and back."

"You're right. I'll contact this Mr Snape to tell him that you'll leave early tomorrow morning," Arthur agreed wearily.

"Who?"

"He brought us the letter. Apparently he works for Tom Riddle."

-OOOOOOOOO-

The train ride to the Playground was spent in silence, only interrupted by Molly's tears and Charlie's soft spoken words of comfort. Outside of the window you could observe one of those perfect autumn days that you rarely ever experience outside the pages of a book, which stood in direct juxtaposition to their current mood. Snape didn't utter a single word during the entire journey.

Nervous tension filled Molly and Charlie when they saw the Playground looming in the distance. The walk up the vast driveway seemed to take forever. A distant screech and an answering howl disrupted the eerie silence. Snape escorted them halfway to the front door before he excused himself. Charlie watched him walk across the lawn, seemingly towards the noise, and disappear behind the manor, before he sped up to catch up to his mother, who had just rang the bell of the front door.

A strict looking woman in her fifties answered the door. She was wearing an old-fashioned kneelength red plaid skirt with a ruffled black blouse that closed tightly around her throat. Her formerly black hair, that was now streaked with grey, was held in a bun so tight Charlie wondered if she got headaches from it. Her jade green eyes regarded them suspiciously.

"How may I help you?" the woman said.

"I want to talk to Mr Riddle," answered Molly.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No. We're here to..." Molly swallowed hard and tried to keep the tears at bay. "We're here to collect my son's body. But I have some questions I want to ask first."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," she told them without an ounce of pity.

"And just who are you to decide that? Get me Tom Riddle this instance!"

"I'm the housekeeper. Minerva McGonagall. As I've already told you, without an appointment I can't let you through. But I can show you where you can collect the body." She sounded annoyed and pronounced the word body as though it were distasteful.

At that moment a dark, commanding voice sounded from behind her. "Let them in, Ms McGonagall."

Minerva flinched, but opened the door for them. They found themselves in a circular entrance hall with a domed glass ceiling that let watery, warm light filter in which accentuated the red and gold veins in the black marble floor. Across from the door was a wide staircase leading to the upper floors. With the matte green walls and dark furnishings the colour scheme complimented the picturesque autumn day to perfection. But even though the day was bright, the interior still seemed muted, as though you were underwater and the colours coming in from outside were slightly distorted and washed out. It felt icy in the hall, the polar opposite to the weather: even the summer sounds seemed to refuse to enter the Playground's dark interior. It smelt stale and had a peculiar smokey component to it.

Charlie saw two men walking across the hall towards them. They looked like angel and devil walking side by side. The one on the right had platinum blond hair that fell a few inches past his shoulders, angular features, broad shoulders that were adorned with an elegant black jacket and a dark green silk shirt. His pleated black trousers were so neatly pressed they looked as though you might get a paper cut from them. He was holding a snake-headed cane, but didn't appear to particularly need it. As they neared, the iciest pair of light grey eyes he'd ever seen was trained on him and his mother. It unsettled him, and judging by his mum's shuffling, she felt the same. The other one, though, frightened him the moment he laid eyes on him. He was wearing black trousers, black leather dress shoes that were polished to a sheen and a dark purple dress shirt that might have looked silly or feminine on anyone else, but on him just seemed to emphasise his masculine beauty. Charlie couldn't deny that he was the handsomest man he'd ever seen. His ebony hair was parted neatly to the side, falling in soft waves across his forehead, accentuating his pale features. He had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him an aristocratic look. His eyes were an impossibly dark green colour, almost like pine needles, and as they caught Charlie's stare he felt a shiver run down his spine and goosebumps erupt on his skin. He instinctively knew that this man was beyond dangerous.

The two men turned towards each other and shook hands. The dark-haired one said, "We'll talk again soon, Lucius. I value your continued support."

To which the blond replied, "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Tom. Especially when the subject of said business is so...uhm...shall we say, satisfying?" The grin he gave the man, whom Charlie now knew to be the custodian, was predatory and greedy.

"I'm sure other visits can be arranged, should you wish. For a fee, of course."

"Of course. Good Day." Lucius Malfoy stalked towards the door and left without dignifying the Weasleys with a greeting or even a nod.

"Yes, it has been," the custodian murmured before he turned to the two newcomers. "And who do we have here? Judging by the colour of your hair I assume you're here to collect something of yours."

Molly, who had slumped when they'd entered the Playground, straightened up and lifted her chin. "I'm Molly Weasley and this is my son, Charlie. We're here to bring Percy home. I assume you're the one in charge here? I want some answers. And I want to see my Twins."

"Well, Mrs Weasley, talk if you must. But my time is limited and I have more pressing matters to attend to. I'm afraid the Twins have declined to see you."

"They...what?" For just a second his eloquence and good looks unsettled her and she could barely hold back the sob that threatened to escape her throat.

"Is your hearing impaired, Mrs Weasley? They do not want to talk to you. I have to acquiesce to their wishes. I'm to watch over them, after all," he said with a sly smile that didn't reach his eyes. He seemed to bask in her grief and despair.

Even though his tone was dulcet, Molly knew he was mocking her. She bristled at his belligerent words. "Are you keeping me from seeing my own sons, Mr Riddle?" she hissed.

Tom's eyes grew even more glacial. He warned her, sounding almost bored, "I'm going to say this only once. Watch your tone with me. You are in my home. I dislike people trying to command me. It would be in your best interest to keep that in mind, or else you might find yourself in a precarious situation."

The thinly veiled threat directed at his mother made Charlie's hair stand on end. "Mr Riddle, forgive my mother's brashness. She's grieving and worried about the Twins. She didn't mean to offend you. But I think it would help if you could tell us what caused Percy to die so suddenly?"

Tom regarded Charlie coolly, almost amused. "He died in his bed. As far as I know he started feeling unwell a day earlier, but only informed the Twins, who didn't tell anyone else of his illness. I had Mr Snape arrange a funeral car to take you and your...cargo...back home. Now, if that's all, I have other matters to attend to."

He made to turn back towards the door under the stairs, but Molly interrupted him. "No! That's not all! Have you investigated his death? And why didn't you inform us sooner? It's your duty to watch over your charges, you said so yourself!"

Riddle slowly took a few steps in their direction. Although his face remained mostly emotionless his eyes became cruel and now held the promise of pain. Yet, it was his voice, low and eerily calm, which was truly frightening. "Watch your tongue. If you want the truth, then I shall give it. I didn't concern myself with the nature of his demise because it was both unimportant and unworthy of my time."

Tears sprang to Molly's eyes at his callous words. "HOW DARE YOU!" she yelled, pulling a large kitchen knife from her sleeve. She held it towards Tom in a shaking fist.

Tom smirked at her loss of composure. “I suggest you rethink what you're about to attempt.“

Molly's eyes grew wide, her temper in tatters as she lunged at Riddle.

Charlie's blood ran cold and he scrambled forward to grab her arm. “Mum!“ His frantic gaze shifted to Tom, who was watching him struggle with icy contempt.

“She's just upset. We'll take the body and leave.“

It seemed to take an eternity for Tom to give a curt nod of dismissal. The action only incensed Molly further. Charlie had to grab her waist in the effort to contain her wild lunges.

“You killed my son! I know you had something to do with it!“ Molly screeched.

Charlie looked across at Tom's rising anger. It looked for a moment as though his eyes flashed red. “Mum stop! Mr Riddle is innocent,“ he said trying to calm her down.

At that statement Molly turned on her son, wielding the knife savagely in combined anger and grief and accidentally catching Charlie's face. The cut started at the outer corner of his left eye and ran all the way down to side of his lip.

Bright red blood gushed from the wound as a shocked Charlie slapped his hands to it, trying to still the flow of blood, but it came so readily that his hands were soon covered by the sticky fluid. It began falling to the floor in thick drops that made peculiar sizzling sounds before the floor seemed to absorb part of the liquid. Molly stood there, shocked, the knife falling from her limp hand, staring stupidly at her injured son for a second, before she started crying and apologising, not knowing how to help him.

"Charlie! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to - oh my god, I'm sorry, so sorry!" She tried touching his shoulder but his initial reaction to shy away from her, caused her to cry harder.

Tom took in the scene, raised an eyebrow and smirked diabolically. "Well, I shall take my leave. Don't ever set foot in my Playground again, Mrs Weasley. " He turned on his heel and walked towards the door under the stairwell, wholly unmoved by the scene playing out behind him.

As Tom was walking through the door, a hauntingly beautiful woman with an almost rigid posture descended the stairs. She was wearing a long sleeved, skin tight, black knee-length dress, semi-transparent garters and unbelievably high emerald green stilettos that made her slender legs look even longer. A heavy necklace adorned with large emeralds accentuated her slim throat. Her raven-coloured tresses were pulled into a sophisticated french twist and matching emerald earrings dangled from her ears. When she saw Charlie's condition her eyes softened the tiniest bit.

The woman's sharp staccato clicks on the marble floor alerted the Weasleys to their new visitor. Charlie looked stunned by her beauty and seemed to forget his injury for a second. His mother was a blubbering mess.

"Hello, I'm Pansy. Need help with that?" she said, sounding bored. But the expression in her eyes belied her attitude.

Charlie managed to pull up the right corner of his lip and answered, "If you wouldn't mind. Mum, why don't you go get Percy while Pansy here tries to help me with this?"

"I should've known you are Weasleys..." she murmured and looked at Molly with something like pity. "The morgue is in the basement. You can access it by going down this hallway to your right. There's an old lift."

Molly looked up at her, startled. "Yes...thank you. Charlie? We'll meet at the door?"

"Yes," he agreed, giving her a soft push to urge her forward.

With one last horrified look at the blood dripping from his fingers she made her way to the hallway Pansy had indicated.

"Right, come with me. I have a first aid kit in my bathroom."

Charlie followed her up two flights of stairs. Her room was the first door to the right on the second floor. He didn't get a good look at her room, but he noticed the light grey walls, dark purple bedding and drapes, as well as the black furniture. She ushered him into her spacious en suite bathroom. In the middle of the room stood a copper bathtub, the walls were covered in sage coloured wood panelling that came about waist high with a matte black tapestry above that. In the centre of the left wall was a fireplace, painted in the same sage colour as the panelling. At least a dozen candles were standing in it that gave off a warm glow. To the left of the door stood an ottoman and opposite that on the far wall was a white wash basin with an ornate mirror above it. A heavy looking crystal chandelier hung between the door and the tub. The floor was the same ashy brown hardwood as her room.

"I'm Charlie," he mumbled.

Pansy acknowledged him with a regal nod of her head and then motioned for him to take a seat on the ottoman,whilst she went to the cabinet below the wash basin to take out a first aid kit. Before she walked back towards him, she filled a copper bowl with water and picked up a rose coloured wash cloth. Then she came to sit on the edge of the tub.

"I have painkillers, if you'd like some?" she offered, but he declined with a shake of his head.

"Alright, tilt your head back and to the side and then let me see," she coaxed in a low voice that was meant to soothe him.

Charlie followed her instructions and slowly took his hands off of the left side of his face. Pansy raised her delicate fingers with bright red nails and began to carefully dab at the congealed blood that had already seeped into the collar of his T-Shirt and Jacket. Wetting the cloth again she started making light sweeping motions to clean his skin. Once that was done she opened the first aid kit and took out scissors, anti-septic wipes and a small sewing needle, as well as some silk thread and gloves. She was sitting close enough to him that he could smell her perfume - something dark and heavy, reminding him of torrential summer storms and sweltering nights. Up close he could see that her onyx eyes were red-rimmed, almost as if she'd been crying.

"Keep in mind that I'm no expert. You'll probably have a scar, but then again you don't exactly have many options, do you?" She raised a slim black eyebrow at him while saying that and if he weren't in so much pain he might have countered with something flirtatious. "I'll start now. Try not to scream too loudly."

Pansy pulled on the gloves, threaded the silk thread through the needle and slowly started stitching him up. He could tell that she had done this before as she seemed to know exactly how much pressure to use and at what angle to push in the needle. It hurt like a bitch, although it wasn't that much worse than being bitten by some wild animal as was customary in his line of work. So he tried to keep as silent as possible and endure the procedure. After about 20 minutes she took the scissors and cut the thread after she had secured it with a knot. Lastly, she bandaged the wound up as best she could.

"I'd advise you to let a doctor look at that once you're back home," she informed him quietly.

"I will. Thank you, really. Thank you! You didn't have to help me."

"Don't read more into this than necessary." Her suddenly arctic voice surprised him. "You should leave now. Your mother is probably already waiting for you at the door. And if you want my advice: don't ever come back here."

-OOOOOOOOO-

Molly entered the dim hallway that was only periodically lit up by sconces on the walls that were spread in wide intervals. She assumed the walls were the same matte green as in the entrance hall, but due to the darkness and flickering light they seemed much more gloomy. In combination with the sparse light the hallway seemed sinister. She got the uncomfortable feeling of being watched and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She almost walked past the old ornate iron lift that was covered in rust and looked like it might fall apart at any second. Halting abruptly, she stood in front of it, just staring for a minute. Its doors were open and the interior didn't install more faith in her than its exterior. She neither wanted to keep standing in that hallway any longer than necessary nor did she particularly look forward to stepping inside that metal contraption. But the thought of Percy caused her to move forward.

She entered the lift and pushed the button for the basement. The doors closed haltingly with an ominous creak. With a lurch it started moving downwards. Although it went slowly the intermittent jerks of the metal box made her heart race and caused her to be nauseous. Thankfully it wasn't a long ride down. She was glad to step out of the lift when she'd reached the basement.

In front of her stood foreboding looking double doors with milky white glass windows. Inhaling deeply a couple of times Molly pushed them open and intended to enter the current resting place of her son. She'd expected someone to be here waiting for her, but she was alone. In front of her, in the middle of the room, stood a metal table with a sheet covering most of it. She could make out the outlines of a body. The walls were a dirty white and the floor was a dull grey that seemed entirely undignified. The thought of her son having lain here for days saddened her. Still standing on the threshold, trying to gather her courage, she thought she felt a breath touching the back of her head. Startled, she swiftly turned around. For a moment she could've sworn she saw a flash of amber eyes, but the apparition was gone as soon as it had materialised. Feeling even more frightened now, she finally fully entered the Morgue.

The first thing she noticed as the doors fell shut behind her with a loud bang was the scent of decay and rot. The temperature was icy cold but it still felt weirdly humid on her skin, as though it coated her entire body and would stick to her forever. She shuddered in fear.

Reluctantly shuffling forward Molly made her way to the metal table. With shaky hands she took hold of the edge of the sheet and pulled. Percy somehow seemed incredibly small, even though he'd been the tallest of her children after Bill. His skin was a sickly pale, bluish colour that made his freckles stand out grotesquely. His vibrant red hair looked indecent against his skin - as though it had no right to still seem so full of life. Apprehensively she reached out a hand and touched his cheek. He was ice cold to the touch. That, more than anything else, made her break down in tears. She sunk down to the hard floor, grabbed his lifeless hand and sobbed uncontrollably.

-OOOOOOOOO-

Charlie saw his mum emerging from the shadowed hallway, walking towards where he stood at the front door. She looked even paler than when he'd seen her last and tears were still silently streaming down her cheeks. When she spotted him her lower lip began to wobble and she started apologising once again. But Charlie stopped her right there. He laid an arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze, and inquired after Percy's body.

"The Funeral car just pulled up. Did you view his body?"

"Yes, but there was no one there who might transport him from the basement to the car. Are we supposed to do that?" While she said all that Charlie saw a sour looking man with lank grey hair, clad in unflattering greyish clothes, come from the hallway, pushing at what he assumed was Percy, encased in a body bag made from linen, on a stretcher.

"I don't think that will be necessary." Charlie stepped forward to hold open the door.

The man ignored them completely and pushed his cargo towards the car in silence.

As it turned out Severus Snape would be driving them back to the Burrow. He and Charlie helped the grumpy man heave the body into the trunk of the car. Once that was done the man turned abruptly back towards the Playground and Snape bade them to climb in with a tilt of his head.

Molly got into the passenger side while Charlie took a seat in the back. The early evening sun shone pleasantly and plunged The Devil's Playground into an otherworldly fiery glow - as though it stood in flames. He even thought he'd detected the scent of brimstone.

Looking out of the rear window Charlie thought he saw Tom Riddle standing in the doorway, watching them leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

-OOOOOOOOO-

After the funeral, Charlie sat on his bed, staring forlornly into space, thinking of the Playground. Somehow, he hadn't been able to stop thinking of the horrible establishment and its inhabitants. He looked at his childhood bedroom, taking in the sea-blue walls, the worn down carpet and his mismatched cherrywood furniture. His bed was crammed into the far right corner of the room with the small window to the left of it that looked out onto the front lawn. There were still old posters on the walls of interesting animals - real and imaginary. The books on his shelf were almost exclusively on dangerous animals. He inhaled deeply, taking in that unique scent associated with his childhood; basil from his mother's kitchen, the aftershave his father used and that unidentifiable sweet scent of home. A knock on the door pulled him out of his stupor.

"Charlie, dear? How are you feeling?" his mother asked timidly, coming to stand on the door's threshold. When her gaze fell on his bandages, her eyes grew moist again and she said with a sob, "I can't tell you how sorry I am for hurting you! I'll never forgive myself."

"Mum, you didn't mean to, I know that. It was an accident!"

"Don't make excuses for me. It makes what I want to ask you even harder," she mumbled in a choked voice and averted her eyes.

"I don't understand. What do you want to ask?" Charlie was utterly confused.

"I still believe Riddle," she spat the name venomously, "had a hand in Percy's death! The Twins won't answer my letters and I'm afraid -" she took in a deep breathed and then rushed out through clenched teeth, "I'm afraid the Twins are in danger. And since I've read that the Playground houses a menagerie, I wanted to ask you to consider taking a job there in order to keep an eye on your brothers."

Charlie paused for a moment. A dozen thoughts circling his head, before saying, “I'll visit the Playground tomorrow and ask for a job."

-OOOOOOOOO-

The next day, just after noon, Charlie found himself sitting across from Tom Riddle in his office.

"I didn't expect you to come back. What do you want?" Tom inquired with a raised eyebrow, his eyes darting to the bandage on his face. He was twirling his pen between his long slender fingers.

"I want a job in the menagerie. I've worked with animals before and I'm good at what I do. Plus, I'd like the challenge of caring for more extraordinary creatures."

"Hmmmm," hummed the custodian with wicked amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes; like hellfire. "Is that the only reason? This wouldn't have anything to do with one of your brothers dying and two of them still residing here, now would it, Mr Weasley?"

Tom Riddle said that sentence in the most patronising way Charlie had ever encountered. He had to bite his lip for a brief second in order not to say something insulting. "Honestly? Yes, those favour in as well."

That earned him the first real smile he had seen on Mr Riddle's face. It transformed him from being incredibly handsome to looking positively angelic. But although he was sure it was genuine, the warmth didn't reach his eyes. They regarded him calculatingly.

"Fine. I have ground rules, though."

"Okay. And what would those entail?"

"You are not to enter the house. There's a small flat adjoining the greenhouse, you may live there. Anything you'd need will be provided for you. Just call upon Mr Filch or Ms McGonagall. The Twins, and any other inhabitants, may visit you at the menagerie, should they wish to do so."

Charlie mulled those points over but couldn't find anything to disagree with. Truth be told, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep one wink in the house. He was almost glad he would have an escape.

"Deal." He held out his hand.

Tom Riddle looked at him triumphantly and reached to shake it. "Deal."

Charlie didn't like that expression at all. Had he just made a terrible mistake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked getting to know Charlie a little bit better.


	3. Wicked Depravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, this is my first attempt at smut. Follow Pansy as she entertains her first client.  
> As always, a ginormous thank you to the goddess that is Heeley for all your support. You're the best!
> 
> Although you were awfully adamant about me finishing this one...just couldn't wait for the smutty smut smut, could you? ;)
> 
> (Yes...this was my veeeerry first attempt at smut. And Dub-Con, no less.)

**"Feast on the fruit of every tree"**

Pansy sat in the office of the Devil's Playground feeling very small and intimidated but making sure that none of it showed on her face. She'd be damned if she let this man know how out of depth she felt. His very presence made her blood freeze. The Playground had looked foreboding when she'd arrived a few minutes earlier, even though she was used to grand old manors. She did grow up in one, after all. But she couldn’t deny the chilling unease she'd felt upon entering.

"Miss Parkinson, welcome to the Devil's Playground. I'm Tom Riddle, the custodian. Is there anything you'd like to ask me before we discuss your duties?" inquired Tom, observing her intently.

"No, Mr Riddle, thank you. I'm good."

He arched an eyebrow at that. "Very well. In exchange for letting you stay here, I expect for you to perform certain duties that correspond with the nature of your particular Curse."

"And what would those be?" Pansy asked, feeling a sliver of trepidation settle in the pit of her stomach.

"You're to...entertain...guests of the Playground. Might as well put your newly gained abilities to use," he said, looking up at her from under his long black lashes. His tone made it very clear that he wasn't making a suggestion and that her duties would be non-negotiable.

Pansy's heart skipped a beat and the dreadful feeling solidified. She merely pursed her lips and clarified, "You expect me to prostitute myself for you? Am I understanding that correctly?" she said, keeping her face free of emotion. 

"If you want to put it so bluntly, then yes, that's exactly what you'll do." The finality in his voice made fear slide down her spine. She clenched her jaw and raised an eyebrow. "If that's all, I'd like to retire to my room. Unless, you intend to keep me in in a cage like the pet you apparently think me to be."

Tom's eyes darkened and a dangerous glint showed in his bottomless green eyes. The dim lighting let shadows dance across his face and emphasised his high cheekbones, making him almost look skeletal for a second. 

"I'd advise you to leash your tongue in future. Make no mistake, Miss Parkinson, you are not my equal," he said quietly. "Ms McGonagall will show you to your room in a minute."

"That won't be necessary. Just tell me where it is. I'm sure I can manage to find it on my own," she replied icily. Even though she put up a good front, she couldn’t help but tighten her already white-knuckled grip on the armrests of her chair.

Tom didn't fail to notice that little display of fear and smirked maliciously, conceding graciously, "As you wish. Your new bedroom is on the second floor. First door on the right."

Pansy inclined her head and stood up in a fluent move before turning on her heel with her head held high.

-OOOOOOOOO-

After ascending the staircase, she paused in front of her assigned room and slowly reached for the doorknob, opening the door to her new domain.

She was met with a dark, musty smelling room of average size. Stepping inside, she walked across the room to the windows and opened the heavy violet curtains. Cold morning light flooded the room and revealed dancing dust motes. She opened the window that looked out at the Playground's driveway to let in fresh air. With one hand on the windowsill and the other pressed to the cold glass she inhaled deeply a few times, trying to settle her frayed nerves now that she was in what would be her sanctuary from this day forward.

Undoing the buttons on her coat, she turned around and looked at her room. The walls were painted a light grey that instantly soothed her. From her vantage point at the window she saw a black wrought-iron bed to her left with white and purple bedding, framed by ebony nightstands. Right beside her in front of the windows stood a matching vanity with an ornate mirror. A Persian rug in dove grey and mauve covered the ashy hardwood floors in front of the fireplace on the right wall, next to a door that presumably led to her bathroom. Walking over to it, she opened the door and looked at a surprisingly spacious and beautiful bath.

She shrugged off her coat and sat down on the bed. At least she had somewhere she could make feel like home to escape from the nightmare she'd suddenly found herself in.

-OOOOOOOOO-

Pansy had been told via Mr Filch, no less, to prepare herself, make herself presentable and wait for a summons during dinner. Riddle didn't even have the decency to tell her that in person. She knew what it meant, of course. Tonight he'd expect her to fulfil her duties. She sneered at the thought. If she hadn't found the custodian so terrifying, she'd have flat out refused. But she didn't even dare to think about the consequences such an action would have. Riddle would torture her without granting her the relief of death, she was sure of it.

So she put on a long grass-green gown with black straps that encased her cleavage and collar bones in two v's on both sides. Black lace and beads were artfully sown upon it, glittering slightly. The stitching started at her cleavage and spread out over the middle of the bodice to end at her hips in a design reminiscent of spiderwebs. A zip down the middle of the dress opened mid-thigh so that it pooled around her black high heels and put her long legs on display.

A knock on her door made goosebumps appear on her arms. She took a few deep breaths to soothe her nerves. As soon as she opened the door Filch turned around, expecting her to follow. Like a lamb led to slaughter. The journey to the dining room seemed to take an eternity and mere seconds all at once. Too soon she was faced with the imposing double doors that hid Riddle and whomever she was expected to...entertain. Squaring her shoulders she motioned for Filch to leave her and knocked on the door, announcing her presence before she pushed them open.

She found herself faced with a large room that was painted in midnight blue and circled by tall stained-glass windows. The wall opposite her was dominated by a massive fireplace that gave off a fiery glow. A huge ebony wooden table stood in the middle, set with plates that were being taken away by Filch, who someone had sneaked past without her noticing.

Two men were seated at the far end of it, standing up when she entered. She barely contained a sneer at that little display - the so called upper class were always intent on following decorum even in a situation like this. At the head was Tom Riddle, wearing a dark blue shirt and chocolate brown trousers. She detected the tiniest smile of approval tugging at the corners of his lips as he scanned her appearance. As though she was a dog that had pleased him.

To his right stood a man with platinum blond hair that fell a few inches past his shoulders. He had angular features and broad shoulders that were adorned with a dark green silk shirt. His pleated black trousers were so neatly pressed they looked as though she might get a paper cut from touching them. As she perused him, the iciest pair of light grey eyes she'd ever seen examined her in a way that made her feel like cattle and unsettled her instantly.

"Ah, Miss Parkinson," said Riddle, "do come in. Let me introduce you to our esteemed guest of the evening; Lucius Malfoy. I'm sure you've heard of him."

The smile Lucius threw her way made her shudder. It was greedy and predatory. Wicked. Swallowing hard, she stepped inside and made her way to the chair to Riddle’s left.

"No need to sit down, Miss Parkinson. We've just finished having dinner. Why don't you escort Mr Malfoy to the guest room," Riddle said. The amusement she saw in his eyes made her clench her teeth.

She opened her mouth to object, but Riddle narrowed his eyes and interrupted her by saying, "Now, Miss Parkinson. We've talked about your tasks in exchange for staying at my home. You wouldn't want to be the only one not paying her dues - that would be rather selfish, don't you think? It would be a shame should you decide to be difficult. I'd have to let you go and your...talents...would go to waste. Take Mr Malfoy upstairs and then be a good girl and obey. Cater to his every whim. Make him happy, which in turn will make me happy. And you wouldn't want to disappoint me, now would you, Miss Parkinson?"

Pansy pursed her lips and gave a curt shake of her head before turning to Malfoy, inviting him to follow her. Waiting for him to join her, she turned around and made to leave, expecting him to follow her, but he grabbed her upper arm just above her elbow to halt her steps.

Putting her hand in the curve of his arm, he murmured, "Please, lead the way." 

He was close enough to her now that she noticed his scent; sharp and decadent, like glaciers and dark chocolate. Barely keeping herself from stumbling she guided him to a guest room on the first floor that had been prepared for this exact circumstance.

The room was spacious and would've revealed a view of the menagerie had its windows not been hidden by heavy black curtains. The walls were painted a deep red and the floor was made of a warm dark brown wood. Candles were placed across the room, giving it a dim, soft light. There was almost no furniture except for a huge four poster bed with gaudy black drapes that stood on a platform. A creamy carpet covered the two steps leading up to it. On either side stood a bedside table with a large cream-coloured lamp on it.

Pansy held herself ram rod straight as she took in the scene and tried not to imagine what she'd have to do here in a few minutes. Feeling Lucius disentangling her hand from his arm, she felt him place his hand at the small of her back and gently push her forward. He closed the door behind him and then looked at her with that wicked smirk she'd seen earlier as he turned around. She felt rooted to the spot as he came to a stop in front of her. Slowly and deliberately he reached for the zipper on the front of her dress, beginning to slide it down. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

"Open your eyes. I want you to keep eye contact with me the whole time," he commanded.

Pansy's onyx eyes flew open and filled with tears before she steeled her nerves and promised herself to get through this without giving him - or Riddle - the satisfaction of falling apart.

After he'd undone the zipper, he reached for the straps keeping the dress up and slid them over her shoulders, causing the green material to pool around her feet. Breathing shallowly, she watched as he took in her lingerie. She wore a see-through black shift that fell just below her arse with a triangular cleavage that went almost down to her belly button and high-waisted black knickers. Her long raven-coloured hair fell in silky waves over her shoulders, covering her nipples. The dark colours made her pale skin look almost luminous.

Gripping her hips hard, he spun her around and pushed her hair over her shoulder before he pressed his mouth to her pulse point and sucked. Pansy flinched at the sudden pressure. Letting his hands slide down over her hips he let his fingers touch the insides of her thighs before he grabbed the flimsy material of her undergarments and lifted them, making sure to outline her figure with the palm of his hands and pulled it over her head. Pansy couldn't suppress the shiver that his touch elicited - half revulsion, half excitement. Truth be told, if it hadn't been a "job", she wouldn't have been quite so apprehensive about sleeping with him. He was a gorgeous man, after all, and would've been to her liking under normal circumstances. Only wearing knickers and heels he pressed his clothed body against her from behind, letting her feel his erection at the small of her back as he guided her towards the bed.

Stopping in front of the steps, he said in a rough voice, "Turn around. Undress me."

Complying, she faced him again, taking in his molten eyes as she lifted her hands to unbutton his shirt. With each one, she revealed more of his pale, chiseled torso. At least, she couldn't complain about his physique. Muscled, but not overly muscular, he looked like one of those greek marble statues. He shrugged out of his shirt, while she started undoing his grey leather belt. Pansy couldn't help but lick her lips at his looks. Yes, he was certainly her type. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all. He kicked off his shoes after she'd unzipped his fly and stepped out of his trousers. He was naked underneath. Standing in all his glory she let her gaze wander over well-defined calves and muscled thighs to end at his rather impressive cock that was pointing straight at her.

He smiled at her and lifted her up by her waist and took the two steps up to the bed. Pansy squealed in surprise as he threw her down on it, looking at him with wide eyes and the beginnings of a smile. So he wanted to be playful? She could do playful. Putting one knee on the bed, he bent forward to slide his fingertips under the elastic of her knickers. He pulled them off in one rough tug. Her heels followed. Expecting him to join her on the covers, she was confused when he stepped back and walked to a chest at the foot of the bed. Taking out what looked like emerald green rope, he looked up at her as she gasped. She had an idea what he intended to do with that and she didn't like it one bit. Nobody had been allowed to tie her up before. She hated the loss of control it entailed. Lucius smirked at her and stalked towards her with the rope in hand.

"What do you think you're doing? I won't be tied up!" Pansy's voice shook as she spoke.

"Well, that's too bad. It doesn't matter what you want. If I recall correctly Mr Riddle told you to 'cater to my every whim.' So, be a good girl and do as I say," Lucius replied.

She could hear the glee in his low voice. He was taking pleasure from her apprehension, she was sure of it.

"Now, show me how you can bend, Miss Parkinson. I've heard such impressive tales about your abilities."

Pansy went rigid at that command, but started to comply at the warning in his narrowed eyes. Resigned, she asked quietly, "How...how do you want me?"

Lucius' eyes flashed. Clearly, he liked her submissive tone. "Make yourself as small as possible, but give me...." he curled his lip in greed, "access...to that pretty cunt of yours."

Closing her eyes for a second, she stood up and bent over backwards so that her hands were behind her feet. Bending her knees, she slid her arms and torso forwards through her legs. Then she kneeled so that her calves were under the back of her thighs and her shins lay flat on the bed. In this position her pelvis was thrust forward. Her head lay on her outstretched arms under her crotch.

"Stay like that."

Stomach churning fearfully, she watched him kneel down next to her. He started tying her up in that position - each lower leg to each upper arm and neck to both lower arms. The rope felt like silk against her skin. She tried to keep her breathing under control as she realised just how defenceless she was in this particular position. When he was certain the knots were secure he sat back on his haunches and admired his work. His hand went to his cock, lazily pumping up and down, as he watched the rising panic on her features.

"We're going to have so much fun tonight," he said, licking his lips and making Pansy shiver at the dark promise in his voice.

He crawled towards her, sliding his hand from her stomach, over her hips and down over her thighs. Shifting his hands so that he now grabbed her inner thighs, he slowly slid them upwards, letting his fingernails dig into her soft skin. She gasped as he dragged them to the apex of her thighs and stroked her most intimate place that was so lewdly displayed for him. Spreading her folds, he unceremoniously shoved two of his fingers inside her, making her cry out. 

She'd been aroused when they'd started out but the bondage had terrified her so much that she was barely wet enough for him to move his digits without hurting her. She couldn't even move away as he pulled them out, just to roughly slide them back in again.

"That won't do," he murmured, touching her clit with the thumb of his other hand. He started rubbing tight circles on her sensitive nub that was quickly starting to get engorged under his relentless ministrations. She began to pant as he shoved another digit inside her, preparing her for him.

He shoved his finger in to the hilt, curling them inside her to rub against that spongy spot. She felt the tingle of impending orgasm rush through her, making her see stars.

"Cum for me," he demanded in a strangled voice.

Moaning, all her muscles went taut just as Lucius pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger. Hard. She gasped loudly as she was thrown over the edge.

Not giving her time to recover, he withdrew his hands from her and used the one that had been buried inside her seconds ago to lubricate his cock. It made a slick sound as he covered himself in her jucies. Shifting onto his knees he lined himself up with her opening and entered her in one hard thrust.The tendons of his neck stood out as he threw back his head and moaned quietly. It was a tight fit and she was still quivering around him from her orgasm but he'd managed to bury himself completely inside of her now wet sheath. Gripping her stomach, he started to pump his hard length in and out of her with brutal force.

Lucius Malfoy wasn't a gentle lover. At least not to her.

Snapping his hips back, he drove forward again, panting harshly. Pansy was moaning uncontrollably now. Her sensitive flesh was still pulsing from her previous orgasm. She felt herself heat up again and knew that her second orgasm was imminent. The fluttering of her walls made him cum before she could get there.

"Fuck!" he shouted as he spilled his seed deep inside her. Shortly after she felt him slip out.

Relieved, she watched as he stretched out at her side."Could you untie me now?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes with an expression of anticipation and replied with an evil smirk, "I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot. I haven't even shown you my favourite toys, yet."

Pansy paled at his response.

-OOOOOOOOO-

She was sore and achy the next morning.

After he'd finally untied her she immediately pulled on her dress and left the room. Fleeing to the safety of her bedroom, she didn't hesitate in entering her bathroom and drawing herself a bath. While she waited for the tub to fill up with scalding hot water, she lit the fireplace and shimmied out of her dress, leaving it on the floor.

Grabbing her favorite bath oil, she poured a generous amount of it into the water. Climbing in, she submerged herself in the heat. The scent of vanilla and chai spices filled the air. Taking a sponge she began to scrub her skin vigorously, almost hurting herself as the memories of the previous night assaulted her. 

The sex hadn't been as bad as she'd expected, at least it hadn't been overly painful, but the feeling of having been used like some dispensable toy made her feel sick to her stomach. It wasn't long before the first tears fell and she hated herself for being so weak, but the emotional backlash was too much.

She cried for a long time in her copper bathtub, so long in fact that the water had turned cold before she managed to pull herself together. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped fluffy rose-colored towels around her hair and her body.

As she saw the green dress on the floor, Pansy clenched her teeth and threw it into the fire.

She swore to herself that she'd be the one in control during her duties from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Let me know in the comments!  
> I'd love to hear what you thought! Was it cringe worthy or did Lucius made you squirm? ;)
> 
> (I have since then become quite adapt at writing smut, or so I'd like to think, and if you'd like to check that out, make sure to give "Bathtime", "Jealousy" and "Funky Mood" a look.)

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: the quotes at the start of these one-shots are lyrics from "Devil's Playground" by The Rigs.
> 
> If you’d like to get a more accurate sense as to what my writing style has turned into, please consider checking out my more recent stories.


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